Night of Lemons and Chundering
by TheInvincible316
Summary: A short story about three blokes who kick back after a day of bloody hard yakka with some ice-cold lemonade...and something else they weren't expecting.


_It's getting near dark now. Where the Christ are they?_

The great orb was descending, cascading a sea of orange light over the already orange Australian landscape. It created an aura of gold that reflected off his lenses as he leaned against the wallin front of the Outback Pub. He held off putting the shades on until the last minute, but he couldn't tolerate the sun's glare off the machinery around him.

There were drills, driven by wind energy, and surrounded by giant support towers designed to keep them pointing downwards. A few dozen carts lay scattered around the drills, and once the massive piercers did their job, the conveyors would do theirs; carrying the valuable payload to the surface, and off to the truck in the distance. Slightly to the left of the vehicle, he spotted the pride of the excavation. Those saws were still digging at a frantic pace into the rock face. The water poured in through the cracks that the saws created. Honestly, he didn't know how anyone could call it water. It barely looked safe to look at, let alone swim in. His vision traced over the entire area once more. Scratching at his right ear, he decided that he didn't like what this site represented.

_Nope, I don't like this. But I'm going along with it. Life has a funny way of messing with you, sure does._

It was around that time that the gray wolf's party trudged up the wooden walkway to the pub. He lowered his glasses and nodded slightly to the group as they came right up to the door. They stopped outside and both of them glanced in his direction. The lead purple dingo stepped in front of the wolf and extended his hand.

"Oi, Lance! Didn't think you'd still be 'ere," he exclaimed through a toothy grin.

The gray wolf, raising his eyebrows in response, got off the wall and shook the dingo's hand.

"You're lucky I hung around, Seth. A few more ticks and they would've passed us over," he smiled back at his friend. "What were you smackers up to anyway?"

"Ah, you know 'ow it is, mate. Boss man's been hammerin' my tail again, by God. Said my last haul was light; now the tosser's been poking his snout in everything I do! Give a bloke a fair go at his yakka, I say!" Seth said, pounding his chest once with pride.

"Maybe if you weren't so up yourself all the time, he wouldn't have a reason to come down on you like he does," the smaller kangaroo behind him advised.

"Why don't you go spit in the river, Tommy? I'm not about to 'ave you climbing my pole night an' day too. I get enough of that from this pecker 'ere," the vicious canine smirked back to the wolf. "Ain't that right, Lance?"

Lance shook his head with a amiable smile. He walked past them and opened the door. "We should get inside while they're still holding our table,"

The trio pushed through the swinging gates and into the bar. It looked exactly like a hastily-made watering hole should. The floor inside was exactly the same as the floor outside, solid dirt ground. In lieu of any actual tables and chairs, there were a large grouping of sitting rocks around a crackling fire. Kegs piled on top of each other on opposite sides of the room, waiting for the current supply to run dry, then they would enter and save the day. A long table with stools sat on the left side from the door, elevated by what appeared to be a stage. The bar to the right was the only part of the pub that seemed to result from actual construction. The polished wood finish that spread across the top of the long flat table glistened from the lighting on the ceiling, and the reflected image of the many bottles and jugs could be seen in its visage. Several other excavators had chosen to spend their night here, slumped over the bar and trying to get some rest while quenching their thirst.

The smoky gray wolf slipped out of his jacket and placed it on the coat hook next to the door. After that, he followed the dingo and the roo over to the table on the platform. Lance was next to Seth on the side facing the wall, and Tommy took a place on the opposite side.

"Why'd you bring that thing for, anyway?" Seth asked as they all took a seat.

"Just in case it got cold while I was waiting for you," Lance shrugged in reply. "If I was gonna be waiting all night for you, I wasn't gonna be freezing at the same time,"

"Take a bite, Lance. I told you I got 'eld up after my shift," Seth growled.

"It's true, I was there," Tommy the kangaroo nodded. "It was a corker and a half, Lance. You would've liked it,"

Lance nodded back, to Seth's great annoyance. The dingo rubbed at a sudden twinge in his temple, as the bar's kangaroo waiter bounced up to their table with a tiny notepad clutched in his hand.

"Evenin', gents. What'll ya have?" the old man greeted them.

"Round of coldies for the table, my good man," Lance answered, grinning to his friends. His grin vanished as a hearty laugh escaped the server.

"Oi, you must be new 'ere, mate. Three ice-cold lemonades comin' up," he said, writing down the order and walking back to the bar. When he was a safe distance away, Lance leaned over to Seth and spoke quietly, in a confidential tone.

"Lemonade? Is that code for something?"

"Sure isn't, mate. He said lemonade, and he meant it. Best in the Bush, too bloody right," Seth said, smacking the table to emphasize his enthusiasm for the Outback Pub's signature drink.

"What kind of bar is this? Why can't we get some cold amber in here like a damn normal mob of blokes?"

Seth cracked his knuckles as though his explanation would require a large amount of effort. "It's all regulations, you see? Nightmare scenario, mate. Some gabber comes in one day, completely off his face, hops into one of these cranes, or drills, or God willing, those saws…BAM! Say hooroo to your arm, stumpy,"

"Like that could actually happen," Lance scoffed, turning up his nose at the idea.

"Too right, it could," Seth said, narrowing his eyes. He looked over to the bar and spotted a dingo with slightly graying fur pouring down a giant mug of lemonade. "Oi, Jacky! Wave to Lance 'ere with your good arm!"

The dingo at the bar set down his drink and spun around on his stool. He looked down at his left arm and gripped the shoulder firmly. After shaking the joint around a little bit, a pop was heard and the limb slid completely out of his shirt sleeve. Jacky took his prosthetic at the wrist, and waved it around in the air. Seth laughed as he smacked the table.

"Good on ya, mate!" he called out. Tommy and Lance could only stare as Jacky turned around and fixed his arm back into his shoulder.

"Wow. Amazing how real that looks," Tommy said, glancing over his shoulder back at the bar.

"I know it, roo. Can you believe he made it himself?"

The bar's server returned just then, expertly balancing a tray full of lemonade mugs. One by one, he took them from the tray and placed them in front of each of the pub's guests. Finally he reached their table. The three remaining glasses were distributed among them. Seth and Tommy lifted their glasses and clacked them together in a hearty toast. Lance was a little more tentative in his motion. He tapped his fingers along the handle of his mug, and finally brought the rim up to his lips.

"What's wrong with you?" Tommy asked after setting down his drink.

"Tommy…" Lance began, "I'm starting to think what we're doing here might not be so good,"

"What all this?" the dingo next to Lance exclaimed. "You're thinking of bailing out? This is a sweetheart deal we got 'ere, bastard,"

Lance scratched at his ear and turned to face the man next to him. "I know that, Seth. It's just…you remember that native we found the other day?"

Seth finished off his glass and rubbed the tuft of fur under his chin, an attempt to kick start his brain. "Oh yeah, that little ankle-bitin' koala fella. Couldn't understand a thing he said, but he was cross like a cut snake 'bout something,"

The waiter returned with a new batch of lemonade glasses, nodding politely to each of them as he passed the table on his way back to the bar.

"You know how those bushfolk are," Tommy said, lifting his second glass. "They want everyone to love the land and respect a bunch of sacred rocks and all that,"

The two sitting across from the kangaroo knew exactly what he meant. They had been hired, along with around a hundred other men, to mine the vast quantity of opal that had been recently discovered in the Australian Outback. The problem that arose from this potentially lucrative information, was that the vein was dangerously close in proximity to Ayers Rock, among several other sites sacred to the Aboriginal societies.

"Problem is, everything's sacred to those blokes. I swear, they would worship a fencepost if it was old enough,"

"I don't know, mate," Lance thought out loud. "I think he might be right. I mean, these rocks are important to a lot of people. We don't really have the right to knock 'em down over a few gems and such, do we?"

"You know 'ow many opals there are down there, you tosser?" Seth burst out. "I'm tryin' to put away all the quid I can. My son's goin' off to college soon. That ain't cheap! Besides, this land don't belong to just them. We have as much right to decide what to do with these rocks as they do,"

"I kinda take your meaning, Seth," Tommy nodded, "but aren't you showing just a little religious insensitivity?"

"Got nothing to do with religion, boomer. I got nothing but respect for the Aborigines. Takes real stones to live out 'ere. All I'm sayin' is, the rocks and canyons out 'ere ain't so important as the ideas they represent. Hell, I'd knock down a church if someone found a mess o' gold under it. Doesn't mean I got something against God. This is about money. Economics, mate. That's what drives us as a culture,"

Seth settled back into his seat. He had gotten a little worked up after his heated talk with Tommy, and he relaxed himself by snatching up his glass and taking a hearty swig. Lance had not even touched his second mug yet. A tiny layer of liquid was clinging to the ice at the bottom of his first glass, which was starting to melt and condense on the other side of the bottom rim. The gray wolf shook the moisture off his hand and pushed the glass away.

"I like money, too. Don't get me wrong about that. But the way you say it, Seth, it sounds like we're really doing something wrong here,"

"Oi, Lance. You been bringin' the bleedin' party down all night, yeah? If I'm wrong, then the government must be wrong, yeah? They're the ones who ordered this dig,"

Lance got up from his seat and began walking to the door right next to the elevated stage. He looked up and spotted the exit sign, pushing it open while looking back at the two still seated at the table.

"I need a little time to think this out, alright? I'll be right back,"

The wolf slid out the door and immediately latched onto the wall right next to it. The night was cloudy and humid, but not as hot as it was during the day. He was glad he didn't bring his jacket with him; it would have been too uncomfortable, and he wasn't in the right mindset to be uncomfortable.

_Are we doing the right thing by mining all these opals? Yes, the money we get from them would help a lot of people. But are we risking the destruction of a whole culture by our actions? Are we desecrating sacred land here, or is it really just a bunch of rocks, like Seth says? We're the bad guys…if what we're doing is wrong, that's what they'll say about us. Bad guys, eh? Not in the government's opinion, apparently. Are we bad for doing what they say, or are we actually just bad people? What if the government is wrong? What if the natives are wrong? Who really decides what's good or bad? Or are they just relative terms? No one really sees themselves as bad guys. Maybe they're just words we give to situations where we don't want to face the terrible things we as a civilization are capable of. I'm capable of good and bad, just like anyone else. _

_I'm capable of walking away from it all, too. Would I be considered good or bad for doing nothing? Should I let my friends continue to do things some people consider wrong, even if some people consider them right? Is that my place? No, of course not. That's their decision. But I know what I can do._

He got up from his position outside. He turned to face the door and placed his hand on the knob. Right when he was about to turn it and open the door, he heard a loud slam emanating from inside the bar. A few seconds later, a voice he was not familiar with sounded out with authority.

"Listen up meatheads. Time to clear out! From now on, this bar is Cooper Gang turf!"

Lance cracked the door open, and peered inside. He saw his partner Seth standing in front of three strange men, eyes gleaming with rage and determination. Immediately the wolf sensed conflict would stem from this event.

"Tough luck, whacka! You ain't got no respect with us!" Seth declared boisterously.

_Oh, Jesus. Here we go again._

Lance closed the back door of the bar and began pacing nervously. He knew Seth. He knew all about his quick temper and his propensity for trouble. A situation like this was sure to devolve into violence. A crushing guilt washed over him for running out at the worst possible moment. He knew he had to get back in there and help his friends.

_I can't just rush in, though. I'd just be setting myself up that way. Those guys looked pretty tough. No, I think this is going to require a little more finesse._

He began to make his way around the edge of the cliff on which the bar was situated. Halfway through his walk around the ledge, he spotted a faint red aura on the ground by his feet. He crouched down curiously to inspect it. A small golden object lay half-buried in the ground. He brushed some of the dirt away and leaned in closer to pick it up. An ornamental mask covered in feathers and tribal carvings found its way into his hand. The wolf held the item over his head to look through both of the eyeholes.

"Hello, what's this?"

…

_Total darkness. _

_THE END_


End file.
